


Developing

by SharVoss



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:52:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1461556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharVoss/pseuds/SharVoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John begin to realize their connection may be far beyond what they thought, but it's hard to hash that all out with a deranged psychopath haunting their steps. Considering Jim is that psychopaths's little brother, it's safe to say the worst it yet to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Case

Author's Note:

I do not make any claims to ownership of  _Sherlock_  or its characters, only this plot line.

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall

I hope you will enjoy :)

* * *

Sherlock sat in the large blue plush chair that helped him think during a long case.

"He paid off the security guard and receptionist, retrieved the flash drive from the safe deposit box and walked out the front door with millions. This whole case was so pathetically transparent but I'm certain I've missed something!"

Just as Sherlock was reaching a break through, John trotted up the stairs and into the apartment.

"Sherlock one of these days you're going to HAVE to pick up your own milk from the market, I just can't get a hang of those damned chip and pin machines. Why did you need two liters of cough syrup, people were looking at me like I was barmy-"

"JOHN! mind palace! And don't be so dull."

John put away the assorted grocery's and sat in his arm chair across from Sherlock.

"Have we got a new case?"

"No, not one. Not a single one." Sherlock replied in absolute anger throwing his hands above his head.

"I can't do this John, I'm not like you. My brain needs to be challenged! They're all so boring once I've solved them, but having none at all is torture!"

"Its only been a few days." John replied rolling his eyes at Sherlock's theatrics.

"I know and I'm suffocating! Check the paper while I phone Lestrade."

"Alright Sherlock alright I'd try to convince you to perhaps take this time to sleep, or eat but I really don't want to hear you go on about all the reasons you're not really human" John stated as he walk over to the pile of mail on the end table.

"Sarcasm on a Tuesday?" Sherlock moaned.

John gathered the newspaper while Sherlock talked on his mobile. He actually couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had slept or eaten. John seemed to go on trips to the market an awful lot and all that food disappeared somehow. John actually couldn't remember that last time he had slept or eaten either, but that's how it was with Sherlock Holmes. Always rushing about from one crime scene to another so Sherlock could solve puzzles and show off. John knew it was all just a distraction for Sherlock but for him it was a way to stay connected to the war he had left. It didn't hurt that it really was a lot of fun to follow around that brilliant bastard.

John often wondered about his contribution to their investigations. Sure he was an exceptional doctor who could determine cause of death with near perfection but other than that he did very little to actually solve the cases. Maybe John could teach Sherlock not to be such a prick to everyone he met, of course he knew Sherlock couldn't help it. Every so often John would catch a glimpse of the side of Sherlock that he hid from people. The part of him that had some shred of compassion and toleration for others. It always puzzled John how he seemed to be the only one that could see it, like Sherlock didn't register him as a person and never felt the need to hide it. And maybe he could use that to his advantage.

John realized that while his thoughts were running on as they do, he hadn't actually read a single word on the paper. He flipped to the obits first to see if there were any unusual or unexplained deaths recently. A few heart attacks, several natural deaths, a couple of suicides but nothing that screamed "interesting". John shuddered at the fact that, as a doctor, he had just thought of these deaths as uninteresting, he worried that Sherlock's influence was wearing away at his empathy.* _Nah if anything it was the opposite, I just might be teaching SHERLOCK a little empathy_ *John thought quickly. He then scanned the rest of the newspaper to no avail.

"Sherlock there's nothing here, did Lestrade have anything that peaked your interest?"

"No nothing."

"Okay, shall i order a take away then?"

"Can't eat now, too busy" said Sherlock returning to his mind palace.

"You've solved that last case this week, no more have popped up yet and judging by the lack of body parts in the fridge and the clean state of the kitchen table you've got no experiments on, so what could you possible be busy with?"

"Things."

"Right."

John knew when he and Sherlock had reached the point in their conversation when Sherlock would no longer be listening to a word he was saying while his brain did what ever it was it did when they weren't on a case. Now might be a good time to catch up on some reading John thought. They'd been going non-stop for a week straight and he'd barely had time to sleep let alone read a book and he was right in the middle of earth infiltrating a mountain that was quite lonely, and he'd really been wanting to get back to it. John picked up his book opened to his bookmark and began to read. Right as he was getting into it a pale hand with long fingers snatched the book from his hand, grabbed his wrist and pulled him off the sofa.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? Don't subject me to your boredom please."

"John, what do women like?"

"What?!"

Had Sherlock just asked him about women, how the hell was he supposed to respond to that.

"Why? Have you finally hit puberty and are now having strangle tingly feelings around girls? He chuckled to himself."

"Just answer the question."

"Well if you mean what do they like in men? I guess I'd say they like them not to be sociopaths first off."

"John." Sherlock said sternly

"...well I'm no expert in women."

"Come on John, you've dated loads of women. Surely you have some sort of insight."

"First of all, I have not dated LOADS of women thank you very much. Secondly, even though I've dated, that doesn't mean I have any clue what they really like or I wouldn't still be single."

"Then just tell me about your experiences. Dates, gifts, conversation. And please use detail."

"That's kind of personal."

John could tell by the confused look of Sherlock's face that he didn't understand why that information could be a personal thing. John figured he'd better give Sherlock something or he'd never get back to his book.

"Fine, um...most dates were at a nice restaurant...I went bowling once. Flowers are nice. Talked about occupations and places to go on holiday...I don't know Sherlock. What are you getting at? Do you have a date with a woman?"

Sherlock stood there in silence obviously lost in thought, of course completely ignoring John now. Just when John was about to break the silence Sherlock walked to the door, put on his coat and scarf and started down the stairs. He was almost to the bottom when he walked back up.

"Coming John?"

"Why, where are we going?"

"A case."

* * *

The taxi pulled up in front of the latest crime scene, a small red brick building that looked like a run down corner shop.

"Sherlock, I though you said Lestrade didn't have anything for us?"

"He didn't, but after thinking over our talk earlier I decided he did."

"So you're telling me we've got a case where you need to understand women, and you came to me?"

"What? no, I'm talking about the bank theft."

"I don't remember talking about that today, it was days ago."

"Of course you do, it was right after you came down from your room."

"That's when I told you I was going to the market."

"Oh."

"Do you often have conversations with me when I'm not there?"

"I don't know, when aren't you there?"

Sherlock opened the cab door and stepped out.

"Pay the man will you John."

Sherlock walked over to the police tape and was unwillingly greeted by Sergeant Donovan.

"Freak."

"Sally."

"We don't need you."

"Must we do this song and dance every time I show up."

"Yes."

"Just direct me to the victim."

Sherlock ducked under the tape and was reluctantly escorted to the body.

Immediately Sherlock could smell an overwhelming aroma of gasoline and burnt flesh the cause of which became quite clear as he approached a half-charred corpse.

"Hello Sherlock" greeted DI Lestrade.

"Recognize this bloke?"

John joined the pair after a chat with Sergeant Donovan.

"Do you know this man Sherlock?" asked John

"Yes. So do you John. This is Kreig Hamilton, the bank thief we caught last Friday."

"Yes I remember, how did he end up here?"

Lestrade chimed in.

"He was being transferred after processing. However, the car was run off the road before it reached its destination. The constable was knocked unconscious by the crash and Hamilton was gone by the time EMS arrived. There were no witnesses to the crash and Constable Avery only remembers a black SUV with no plates. The area search turned up nothing and we had no leads to go on. Now we have a witness that says he saw a black SUV with no plates drive down this street, slow down, drop a body out of the trunk, and speed off. What do you think of all this Sherlock?"

"I think you should have notified me when he disappeared, I knew something was off about that case."

"Off?"

"Why would an up and coming yuppie suddenly decide to steal millions of dollars of software design from a company he would have had no prior dealings with. How did he learn about the flash drive, the company, the people to pay off. It was too neat. I should have know then."

"Known what?"

"He was just a middle man looking for a payout."

"A middle man for who?"

"...I don't know yet." * _Someone with deep pockets and a vast network. A competitor of the security software company perhaps, but what reason would they have to risk a murder. A vicious murder at that. Tortured for information? Why would his employer need to torture him? Killed by a third-party? Too many variables._ *

"May I examine the body now?"

Lestrade gestured for Sherlock to proceed and stepped away to speak with Sergeant Donovan.

Sherlock studied every inch. The legs, torso, and face were severely burned. He was only recognizable by the unique tattoo on his forearm bearing a crest with a lion and the name Hamilton.

John watched Sherlock deducing every bit of information possible. It was a marvel to watch the man at work. Sherlock's focus and observation was precision. His eyes got a look of excitement and mystery. John always liked that look. He always felt a sense of pride when Sherlock would reveal the how, who, and why with perfect accuracy. He was always completely amazed no matter how many times he saw it. Sometimes John's amazement was audible by accident but Sherlock never seemed to mind, he actually seemed to enjoy the praise.

'''''''

Sherlock would be disappointed if his faithful companion failed to compliment his skills. He didn't know why it bothered him but he always aimed to impress to be sure John would react accordingly. Which is why he was so frustrated that he could discern no definitive reasoning for this murder and body dump. Sure he now knew where Hamilton had been held, that a woman had been his torturer, and where he had been prior to his capture, and it would be sufficient information for the DI, but it wasn't enough for Sherlock who disliked not knowing everything.

Despite this, Sherlock was becoming more and more pleased as the case became more complex.

Sherlock went through all his findings with Lestrade, as did John after examining the body himself and determining that shock was the most likely cause of death (due to the torture).

"Keep me in the loop this time will you, this isn't over." said Sherlock obviously still annoyed with Lestrade.

"Will do"

The two men exited the crime scene and walked along the street to hail a cab.

"Finally! A brutal murder, a behind-the-scenes conspiracy, and an idea for a new experiment! Oh, its christmas!"

"Do you hear yourself when you speak Sherlock?" John quipped

A cab pulled over and they hurried in out of the rigid cold.

"221b Bakers Stre-"

"No," Sherlock cut off John. "I need to make a stop first. This address." he handed the driver a pink slip of paper.

"Where at Sherlock?"

"I need to speak with a contact, won't take more than a minute."

"What contact? Has it got to do with the case?"

"In a way."

"Do I know them?"

"No."

"Okay I guess." John could tell he wasn't going to get anything more out of Sherlock.

They sat it silence until they reached a lux looking apartment building. Sherlock exited instructing John to wait in the cab. He walked to the front door, exchanged some words with the doorman and disappeared into the building.

John wondered what sort of contact Sherlock could be meeting with in the upper class of London, and so late as it was half nine already. Sherlock had obviously gone up to their flat which seemed odd. He wondered if it could be related to their talk about woman earlier. Before he could give that anymore thought Sherlock emerged from the building with a woman, whom he hugged and waved goodbye to.* _Maybe not so far off, but what business would Sherlock have with a woman who wasn't a victim or a witness. Why had he referred to her as a contact? And what does she have to do with this case?_ * thought John.

Sherlock entered the cab and noticed the puzzled look on John's face.

"Something on your mind John?"

John would have asked about the woman if he though Sherlock would give him a straight answer. So, he settled with a head shake. "Nah."

And back to Bakers Street they went.

* * *

Will update as soon as possible.

Please review! Thank you.


	2. Something Stronger

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

Hope you enjoy! :D

* * *

John couldn't think. He just stood there staring at the red. It felt like hours but was only seconds until his mind finally began to register the scene before him.

"Sherlock!" John screamed in fear. "Oh my god Sherlock!"

John pulled out his mobile and dialed 999.

"I need an ambulance right away! 221B Bakers Street, a man has been shot!"

* * *

Earlier that morning:

It was remarkably quiet in the flat when John roused from a deep sleep. He was used to being woken up at obscene hours of the morning by Sherlock's concertos. Considering the recent developments in the case they were on, he had expected it. He glanced at the clock, it read five past nine. John felt really good this morning as he climbed out of his bed. He threw on his robe and strode down the stairs with a bounce in his step. As soon as he entered the sitting room, he immediately realized that was a mistake.

"Sherlock?! What the bloody hell have you got all over the flat?"

Sherlock emerged from the kitchen wearing goggles, gloves, an apron, and covered in chunks of red.

"Oh, um...experiment."

"Dammit Sherlock, not again, it's all over my computer. Please tell me this isn't human flesh."

"It's not human flesh."

"Right. Of course it is. Why can't you ever just do your experiments at Bart's?!"

"There's too many annoying and distracting people there."

"There's going to be one extremely annoying, distracting, and ENRAGED person here if you don't clean this up now!"

"Come on John, it's for science."

"You mean to tell me that this isn't an experiment gone wrong? You purposely threw this shit everywhere?!"

"Not exactly, but that lead to-"

"I don't care Sherlock! Clean. It. Up." John said trying to subdue his anger.

John wished that he could just go upstairs, get back into bed, and start over. Maybe he'd come down next time to discover a normal flat and a normal flatmate.

Sherlock stalked away very frustrated.

"I'm getting dressed and going out for a coffee, you had better be cleaning when I get back!"

"Hmph." Sherlock responded dismissively.

John went back up to his room, shuffled around for some warm clothes and dressed. He put on his coat and left the flat still steaming.

John walked to the café down the street lost in thought. He would never understand how Sherlock could be so smart yet be a complete idiot sometimes. When John got back he was going to sit Sherlock down and tell him he was no longer allowed to do any experiments involving human body parts in the flat. John was even convinced he would make Sherlock listen and obey him this time. Though that was not likely to happen.

John, coffee in hand and lecture thought out, headed back to the flat. He was a block away when he heard several loud pops, gunshots he thought. Immediately all of his anger was replaced with fear as he sprinted back to 221b.

There on the sidewalk in front of the flat was Sherlock lying in a pool of his own blood. A black SUV with no plates raced from the scene.

* * *

_*Sherlock stared out the window playing his violin, thinking deeply about the current case. He heard foot steps behind him but didn't turn to look knowing it was John. John said something to him that he couldn't quite make out.*_

'''''''

"Hang on Sherlock, don't you dare die on me, don't you  _fucking_  die!"

'''''''

_*Sherlock could feel John's presence lingering behind him for an oddly long time. Finally, Sherlock turned to face him. John had a solemn look on his face and his pistol clenched in his left hand.*_

'''''''

"Sherlock, stay with me, you have to stay awake!"

'''''''

_*John raised the gun to Sherlock's head. Sherlock's face went blank, "I knew it would be you." he said calmly._

_Then John pulled the trigger. All went black.*_

* * *

"Lestrade, I don't know what happened. All I saw was that damned ghost SUV everyone else saw. I'm just saying it has to be connected. Sherlock's taught me that there are no coincidences." John said pacing.

"Alright, alright I'll look into it, but you and Sherlock were just brought in on this yesterday. How could Sherlock have gotten onto Hamilton's killer's radar so quickly. Sherlock didn't have any idea who they even where?"

"So we think. We know Sherlock doesn't tell us everything."

"Okay, but there's not much more I can do until I can speak with him. In the mean time we'll still be looking out for that SUV. Let me know if anything changes with Sherlock."

"If anything changes." John replied sadly.

Lestrade gave John an encouraging half-smile. "He'll be okay." Though he wasn't sure he was convinced of it himself. Lestrade then excused himself from the room.

John sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair next to Sherlock's bed. The doctor had told him there were two gunshot wounds to the chest. Both very close together and missing Sherlock's heart by only centimeters. There was so much blood loss that two transfusions had to be done.

John couldn't get the blood out of his head. It had been all over the side-walk spreading through Sherlock's raven curls and his white shirt was now crimson. John's own hands were covered and dripping from the CPR. His clothes also smeared with it. The only thing he had done since Sherlock had been stabilized was change his clothes and clean his hands rubbing them raw. He didn't want Sherlock to wake up and find him a picture from a horror movie. Though he didn't know when that would be.

Three minutes John thought. Three minutes is all it takes for brain damage to occur during clinical death and Sherlock had died for three minutes and forty-six seconds. As a doctor, John knew full recovery was all too rare. What would happen if Sherlock were to awaken completely mentally paralyzed. Even if he did recover, to what extent would it be. He could lose the very thing that made him who he is. The extraordinary intelligence that amazed John since he first meet Sherlock could be lost. Would he even be the same man anymore? This thought pierced John's heart.

John stared at an unconscious Sherlock. Even lying in a hospital bed hooked up to machines and tubes he looked breathtaking. John always noticed Sherlock's statuesque appearance but this was the first time he really saw how absolutely beautiful Sherlock was. This was the first time it had been a real possibility that he would never have seen it again.

In the time before he had been told Sherlock was stable John imagined his life without Sherlock. He pictured Sherlock's cold lifeless body lying in a coffin at his funeral. He saw himself at Sherlock's grave weeping relentlessly. John pictured his dull life without the adventures he had with his best friend. The emptiness he would feel from Sherlock's absence was enough to drive his mind to near insanity. Even now that John knew Sherlock would live he also knew he would be haunted by that life that almost was. It made him appreciate everything about Sherlock all the more, even his insane experiments. The row they had that morning seemed like a happy memory now.

As John studied his new-found appreciation of Sherlock's appearance he began to uncover something more. Something he hadn't expected. He began to think back on all their adventures, their conversations, there joking. Particularly he thought about Sherlock's laugh. It was infectious and could make John immediately forget about whatever Sherlock had angered him about. John wanted nothing more than for Sherlock to wake up right now so he could hear that baritone laugh and see the way happiness looked on his face as opposed to the vacant look he currently wore.

John felt a whole new connection to Sherlock he didn't understand. Almost losing him made John think about all the ways Sherlock had changed his life and all the things he wanted to say to him. John now realized his life would have become nothing had he not met Sherlock. He never wanted to go through the feeling of not being with Sherlock, ever.

John didn't know what to call the overwhelming feelings he was having toward is best friend. Of course he had always felt a stong sense of endearment toward Sherlock but this was something more. Something stronger.

* * *

Please review!

Next part up soon.


	3. Guilt

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Upon his revelation John immediately felt ashamed. Though he didn't even really understand what it was that he was feeling ashamed about. He hated the fact that something he knew was probably festering inside him for a long time chose to burst to the surface at a time like this.

Right now it didn't matter. His feelings weren't going to help Sherlock but his actions would. When Sherlock woke up John would help him any way he could. Though he desperately hoped Sherlock would awaken the same genius, there was no way to know what consequences there would be.

Now he would find out.

"John?" grumbled Sherlock weakly.

John's face lightened from his deep thought when he heard Sherlock's voice.

"Yes I'm right here Sherlock."

"Why do people say that? Obviously I know where you are."

John laughed softly. So far Sherlock was his same smartass self.

"How do you feel?"

"Like death." Sherlock retorted. John found no humor in this answer.

Sherlock looked at John uneasily.

"What's wrong Sherlock?"

"No-Nothing. Just a strange dream."

"I can imagine. Do you remember what happened? It's understandable if you don't, considering..." John's voice trailed off wearily.

"I remember."

"Really? It's highly unlikely for a vict-...for someone under your circumstances to remember the last week let alone the moments before their trauma."

"I was a very memorable, strange dream." Sherlock said with a slight shudder unnoticeable by John.

"I see." Though John didn't really understand. "That's a good sign. We can go over it later. I should get the doctor in here to examine you."

"Good, fine. John?"

"Yes?"

"Uh...thanks."

"For what?"

Sherlock looked him straight in the eyes making John's heart skip a beat from the intensity.

"For not letting me die."

"Anytime. Just try not to make this a habit." John said trying to sound removed but failing miserably.

Sherlock nodded.

John went to fetch the doctor.

Sherlock blinked slowly as he took in his surroundings. Everything was fuzzy but he had expected the disorientation, it would pass. His chest felt solid and heavy but was relatively painless from the morphine. The morphine. He smiled guiltily at his old friend.

He hated hospitals. Sherlock  _really_  hated hospitals. He hated how incompetent staff were, to him at least. He hated how weak people would look lying in their self-pity when he would question them for a case. Most of all he hated the look on the faces of the patient's "loved ones". They were always full of so much emotion that he didn't understand. It was the same face John currently wore. Sherlock didn't want any pity, he didn't feel like a victim. Occupational hazard he thought. So when he saw that distressed and worried expression on John's face he swelled with anger. Not at John but at the situation he'd gotten himself into. Worst of all, it was something he could not control.

Brushing off this distasteful sentiment for later, he thought back to yesterday morning, before. After John had stormed out of the flat Sherlock was extremely frustrated that he couldn't make John understand the importance of his current experiment. He certainly wasn't going to clean it up until he was good and ready. Though, that defiant instinct quickly faded as he peeled off his gloves and apron preparing to scrub everything.

John Watson was the only person that could make Sherlock feel guilty.

As a master at being emotionally removed Sherlock was always surprised, for want of a better word, that John could get to him so easily. As much as people chose not to believe it Sherlock was human and did having emotions toward things. Mostly they consisted of boredom, frustration, annoyance, and the occasional fondness for his mum, dad, and even Mycroft. The feelings that pulled at Sherlock when John was involved were entirely different and at most times uncomprehend able. John would praise his genius, and Sherlock would feel an unexplainable elation. John would get frustrated or sad about something, and Sherlock would feel the urge to fix it. John would scold him for making a mess of an experiment, and Sherlock would feel guilty.

When John left the flat cross, Sherlock wanted to run after him and make it better.

After cleaning up a bit hastily, he did. Not entirely sure what motivated him to do so he threw on his coat and scarf and practically flew down the stairs wanting to catch John before he made it back.

He opened the door, stepped out closing it behind him, and began down the sidewalk. He made it a few steps hearing a man call out something in a language Sherlock didn't know. He turned to look facing the woman he had visited the previous night. Sherlock was actually quite pleased with himself in the fact that his prediction had been correct. "I knew it would be you" he said confidently. Two shots and a chilling dream that had developed as Sherlock commit the proceedings to memory, and he was awake in hospital with John by his bedside.

John reentered the room with the doctor.

"I see you've rejoined us Sherlock" the doctor began. "I'm Dr. Fontanel , I preformed your surgery when you arrived here. You're very strong to have made it through all that and be awake so soon, and with such encouraging recollection. We'll need to run various tests immediately to start ruling out any possible complications."

Sherlock nodded passively looking at John intently.

"I'd like to run you through some simple tests and after that I'll have a nurse come in to take some samples and do a few diagnostics. Before that do you have any questions for me?"

Realizing he'd been asked a question Sherlock broke his stare and addressed the doctor. "No questions."

"Very well. Let's get started." the doctor said as he went over to Sherlock. John took a seat in one of the chairs against the wall.

The doctor asked Sherlock simple questions like his name, where he lived, what his occupation was. He performed sight and hearing examinations. All to his satisfaction until he noticed Sherlock's eyes becoming very heavy and his responses slowing.

"Are you feeling tired Sherlock?"

Sherlock blinked slowly as he began to feel light headed. "Yes a bit." he said trailing

"It's to be expected of course. Perhaps that's enough for now. I'll have to send the nurse in but I'll give you a few moments and you'll be able to rest after they are finished. Are you feeling anything more than just tired, any pain or confusion?"

"No. Just tired." Sherlock replied keeping his sentences short because of the exhaustion creeping up on him.

"Alright. I'll send the nurse right in and make sure she knows to be as swift as possible so you can get some sleep."

Sherlock shook his head approvingly and the doctor exited.

"Are you sure you're just feeling tired Sherlock. We need to know if there's something up." John said concerned as he noticed Sherlock's sudden sleepiness. It wasn't surprising and was completely normal in his condition but it was Sherlock. John knew he could be stubborn and might hide something just to spite his own body.

"Yes. I was just caught off guard. You needn't worry."

"It's not possible for me not to worry, I'm a doctor and-" John cut himself off fearing something might slip out he desperately didn't want to.

"…and?" Sherlock said eyebrows raised.

Dammit, why did Sherlock have to be so attentive John thought. Even shot and drugged the man didn't miss a thing.

"…and…you're my best friend so, yes, I will worry." there is no harm in the truth John thought.

"Am I?" Sherlock asked inquisitively.

"Yes of course you are you idiot."

Sherlock looked mildly shocked at the implication that he was an idiot but he didn't put much stock into it as it wasn't the focal point of the statement. No one had ever called Sherlock their friend before, let alone their best friend. It's strange how one extra word could change the meaning of a relationship so much. Not only did John claim Sherlock as his friend but that Sherlock was most important of all his friends.

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Oh, I see."

John wasn't surprised by Sherlock's ignorance of this fact. He knew the kind of man Sherlock was and that he probably didn't have many friends if any before John. John found himself insecurely wondering if Sherlock thought of him as his best friend.

"You're my best friend too John." Sherlock said plainly and honestly.

Question answered John thought relieved.

The nurse entered disbursing the tension. He performed his work and quickly left.

Alone again Sherlock looked over at John. "How long till I can leave?"

"Jesus Sherlock you were just shot you need time to recover."

"I can recover back at the flat."

"You need to be here under Dr. Fontanel's supervision."

"There's only one doctor I need, and it's not Dr. Fontanel ." Sherlock said groggily as he fell asleep.

John was about to reply until he realized Sherlock was sleeping. Instead he simply smiled.

* * *

Please review! Thank you!

Next part up asap.


	4. Old Habbits Die Hard

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

The next morning dawned in the hospital. It was only ten when Sherlock demanded that John go back to the flat to get some proper rest.

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, you've made that brutally clear. There's no sense in you being stuck here along with me."

"Sherlock I really don't mind, I want to be here." John urged.

"You don't need to lie John, I see that anxious look on your face and quite frankly your constant presence is very distracting."

Sherlock believed John's anxious demeanor was a result of being "cooped up" in the hospital. Sherlock didn't understand that behind John's anguished expression he was constantly worried that Sherlock's attackers might come to finish the job and he had no idea who they were or how to stop them. John paced because Sherlock's test results hadn't come back and he wasn't out of the woods yet concerning effects of his trauma and there were several more tests still to be done. Most of all John didn't leave because last time he did, he came back to find his best friend dying on the sidewalk.

"It's not a lie. And distracting you from what?"

"From thinking. I need to think clearly and you're just pacing about not doing anything useful so you might as well go somewhere else and be useless there so I can."

Although it was a lie, Sherlock knew a cruel statement like that would drive John away for at least a little while. Sherlock did find a sort of comfort from John's presence but he needed to be alone. Sherlock also notice how exhausted John looked and that he hadn't left the room long enough to eat a proper meal. Maybe he was confined to awful food and unsatisfying sleep but Sherlock was going to make sure John wasn't.

"Sherlock, I'm just-" Sherlock cut off John with a dismissive wave of his hand.

John wanted to make Sherlock understand why he didn't want to leave but his resolve was crumbling. If Sherlock didn't want him there he would leave but only for a little he told himself. No matter what he said John knew Sherlock couldn't handle this on his own this time.

"Mycroft is coming by later so I won't be alone for long anyways." Sherlock lied hoping it would convince John to go take care of himself.

"Fine." John sighed.

John put on his coat and started for the door uneasily. He opened it to leave but he wasn't going to let Sherlock have the last word this time.

"Don't over work yourself trying to solve this case right now with Mycroft. You think you're up to it but you're not okay."

Sherlock opened his mouth to try to reply but John continued.

"And listen Sherlock, me being here isn't just for you ya know. I'll be back tomorrow morning."

And with that John left.

John's words almost passed Sherlock by. He thought that John had stayed by his side out of some sense of obligation as his friend. It never crossed Sherlock's mind that the whole situation was taking a toll on John. He was John's best friend but maybe Sherlock didn't really know what that meant. Sherlock never imagined that he could matter so much to someone that his pain would be shared. His mum and dad never knew what Sherlock was really up to. Mycroft did but he had his own problems. Sherlock never had someone looking out for him like John. There was that damn guilt.

* * *

That afternoon Lestrade knocked softly at Sherlock's open room door.

"Hey Sherlock, how are you feeling today?"

"Oh God. Not you too. Stop pretending to be concerned and let's get to why you are here." Sherlock said exasperated.

"Alright alright, why am I here? I was confused when you texted me to come. On the phone we agreed you could come in when they released you."

"Don't be absurd, that was for John's benefit. He was practically glued to our conversation. I will tell you everything I know now, I've managed to get him away for a while."

"Why? You two always work together. And he is worried about you Sherlock, probably more than you realize."

Lestrade was right, Sherlock didn't realize just how much. Sherlock glossed over the remark and went on. "I have my reasons. You are not to tell John anything we talk about understand?"

"Last time I checked I was the Detective Inspector here."

Sherlock looked at the Lestrade with a "you're kidding me" expression.

"Fine, begin when you're ready."

Sherlock told Lestrade everything, information he had deduced about the shooting, about the woman, and pointed him in the direction of the culprits.

"Just like that? You've figured all this out in the 48 hours you've been conscious?"

"No, before that. I was frustratingly stunted at first but after a successful experiment I was able to put the pieces together. Unfortunately I underestimated the lengths she and her associates were willing to go to cover their tracks." Sherlock said with disappointment in himself.

"If you've already solved it then why keep John out of the loop?"

"I need him to think I'm still working on it while I pursue something I know he won't approve of."

"Sherlock I don't want to help you do something stupid and get yourself shot again."

"I'm not asking your permission. You'll do this if you want to protect John. That is what police do isn't it, protect people?"

"You're people."

"No I'm not."

Lestrade looking hesitant gave in. "There never is much sense in arguing with you, just promise me if this thing you're pursuing gets dangerous you'll bring John or I in."

"Promise." Sherlock said lying.

"Well then I've got some searches and arrests to preform...Be careful Sherlock." Lestrade didn't miss the irony in his warning to the man lying in the hospital bed, shot.

Lestrade left conflicted but he knew Sherlock could handle himself, or at least he convinced himself to believe it.

Sherlock looked at the vase of roses on the counter next to him.

Flashback:

They had arrived the evening before. He had been extremely annoyed that Mycroft had sent him flowers. Flowers were meant to cheer up the sickly. Sherlock wasn't one for cheer nor was he sickly. Mycroft called around seven that morning and denied having sent them. Sherlock hung up becoming very interested in them now. He noticed the arrangement of red and white together which was usually frowned upon for hospital patients. The superstition suggested that they signify blood and bandages when placed together, an omen of death. He reached for the card in the middle.

On the front in plain typed script:

_Remind me to screen my thugs better next time. Needless to say he won't get the chance to botch another hit. Maybe these flowers will finish the job for me._

_-M_

Sherlock's face immediately sank into a grimace. Now he knew the true scope of the situation. He felt an overwhelming wave of dread and excitement. It was only a matter of time.

Sherlock placed the card face down on the table. It was several moments before he notice there was something written, hastily it seemed, on the back.

_We should talk. xx_

_-JM_

For the first time in a long time Sherlock was completely perplexed. The messages where obviously from two different sources. What did it mean? What was Moriarty up to? Sherlock knew there was only one way to find out. He tucked away the card so John wouldn't see it and grabbed his mobile.

_Tonight. You know the place._

_-SH_

Send.

Sherlock's phone buzzed. Good, the number still worked.

_I'll count the seconds. xx_

_-JM_

* * *

A little shorter this time but it felt right to end the chapter here. Finally some Jim coming up :)

Please Review! Thank you!

Next part up ASAP!


	5. Consulting Criminal

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

It was only a simple matter of slipping out of the hospital after last rounds. However, the task was made painfully difficult by the fact that Sherlock was almost doubled over with pain from every step he took. Best take the morphine he thought. A couple syringes would suffice. Honestly, Sherlock didn't know what to expect when he arrived at the pool. It didn't matter, that was part of the alluring danger.

After some cat like maneuvering Sherlock was out of the hospital, as easy as he had expected. He waved for a taxi and quickly but careful climbed in once one pulled over. As agonizing as it had been to put on, Sherlock was thankful that Mycroft had set a suit, shirt, and shoes aside for him in his room. He wouldn't have to worry about explaining the situation to the cabbie.

As he sat it the silence, John crept into Sherlock's mind as he thought about what he might be doing right now. Hopefully sleeping though Sherlock suspected John would be too worried to sleep well. Sherlock then thought about what John would say if he knew what Sherlock was doing right now. He would lecture him about the last time they encountered Moriarty. He would go on about how Sherlock was always taking unnecessary risks just to feel clever. Chances are John would have talked him out of it, which is why it was imperative that he not know anything. This wasn't an unnecessary risk, Sherlock needed to know what sort of madness was in store for him this time in order to stay ahead of it.

It was a short ride. Sherlock stepped out of the cab and off it drove, leaving him alone on a dim sidewalk. Cautiously he entered the building but without hesitation.

Sherlock immediately spotted him despite the darkness. There was Moriarty standing on the far end of the pool his back turned, though he no doubt heard Sherlock's arrival.

As confidently as he could Sherlock walked over to his certain destruction.

"Ahh Sherlock! Take your time. You look a little pale." Jim said with a smile.

"You don't look so good yourself." Sherlock snapped in response. It was true. Jim seemed on edge but it was so carefully controlled only Sherlock Holmes would notice.

Jim chuckled at the banter. "Do sit Sherly. Wouldn't want you to pass out before we've discussed our business."

The pressure in his chest was making Sherlock a bit dizzy and nauseous as he stood. Sherlock sat on a bench nearby immediately feeling some relief. He had administered the morphine discreetly in the cab just before arriving which was holding back most of the pain quite effectively.

Jim remained standing, pacing a bit.

"I'm listening." Sherlock said frankly wanting to get straight to the point. The two men where certainly not ones for small talk.

Jim, looking smug, began. "I pride myself in being a man of my word. At our last meeting I told you my plans for you."

"I remember you attempting to blow us all up and then very curiously cowering away into the shadows."

"Cowering? Don't be ridiculous. As if I would have allowed it to get that far. I was simply having some fun making the great Sherlock Holmes sweat. And as for the interruption, well, you're not the most important thing in my life."

"Yes I am." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. "I imagine you wish to tell me that you didn't send the hit out on me? I know you'd be more imaginative than that. And you certainly wouldn't have missed. Which lead me to the conclusion it had not been arranged by you. Did you lose control of one of your pawns perhaps? Not quite the master of manipulation you claim to be?"

Ignoring the insult, Jim replied. "I'm not done with you yet Sherlock. It is in my great interest for you to remain breathing. For now. I had hoped you would see the complete lack of passion in a simple drive by."

"So you've asked me to meet you so you could, what? Warn me?"

"Were it that simple Sherlock…Like you, I too am not the sole owner of genius among my family."

Sherlock's face lit up with understanding. It all made sense now, and it was worse than he could have imagined but far more intriguing. "Of course." Sherlock said with a sigh. "That explains the note…Big brother stepping on your toes?"

Jim grimaced. "Yes." He sat next to Sherlock on the bench with a huff. "He's always stealing my play things and breaking them."

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh, though painful. Jim Moriarty's older brother was just as intrusive as Sherlock's own.

They sat there in silence for several minutes. Sherlock pondered the ramifications of this new information. Two Moriartys bent on destroying him. One quickly and one slowly. At least he had choices.

Sherlock realized Jim was looking at him intensely.

"So." Sherlock broke the silence. "What do you plan to achieve?"

Jim stood. "James is not like me Sherlock. He has no respect for the game like you and I. He will try again. And again, and again until he kills you or breaks you beyond repair."

"I can handle myself."

"Normally I would entirely agree. But we are beyond normal I assure you." Jim paused as a smirk formed on his lips. "Many have underestimated my brother's talents for violence, none survived. I loath his methods, so ordinary, but he gets results."

"Why? Don't tell me I'm the rope in your game of psychopath tug-of-war."

"It would be a lie to say that wasn't a factor. But it's more than that and you have only yourself to blame. You've made waves in the world of crime and now you will reap what you sew. Your recent activities have put you on his radar. I did so enjoy watching as you broke down his organization. I am truly your biggest fan."

"You would appear as an ally in order to gain my favor. Later exploiting it to achieve your ultimate agenda which is not unlike the elder Moriarty's."

"Elementary. And you will be powerless to refuse me."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed. The sooner you fall to your knees and beg for my help the easier it will be for you Sherlock…and those around you."

John. The implication made Sherlock's stomach turn. "You know full well that will never happen."

"I know you believe that but in time you will see."

Sherlock paused putting the pieces together. "Please Jim will you fix it for me. Brilliant. Make the consulting detective need a consulting criminal. The flaw in your plan of course lies in its solution. If you could control your brother you wouldn't have come to me. You need me. He's been branching out beyond his station hasn't he? While he holds a stake in the game you'll never be able to rig the board."

Jim's smile turned blank. "Perceptive as always." His face lit up again with excitement. "So, it looks like I need you and you need me. What a couple we would make."

"Don't flatter yourself. I work alone."

"Aw, John would be so heartbroken to hear you say that."

Sherlock hated hearing John's name come from such a vile mouth. He wouldn't let Moriarty, either of them for that matter, use John as a string to be plucked on their web of insanity.

"What do I care what John would feel. And I don't need you, but I will help you. Let's go to Scotland Yard right now and explain the situation. I'm sure the fine men and women there would be able to solve your problem."

Jim laughed sarcastically. His mobile buzzed lightly and his face became serious as he looked down at it. "Think it over Sherlock. I'll await your call." he said as he walked over to the exit.

Sherlock could easily deduce the message had been from James. "Big brother's always watching." he quipped.

Jim turned to exit pushing his back into the door. "You would know. I'll be seeing you Sherlock." he said with a smile then left.

"Count on it. Under conditions you may not find favourable." Sherlock called out before the door shut.

Sherlock's breathing quickened from the steady controlled pace he had kept it at. He was beginning to feel the pain more strongly than before. This whole being shot thing was horribly inconvenient he thought. Sherlock wouldn't be able head into battle in his current condition. None the less, he already began formulating certain measures to be taken in light of recent developments.

Sherlock was lost in thought for almost an hour sitting alone by the dark swimming pool. As the throbbing in his chest became more intense his mind began to protest no matter how hard he urged it to cooperate. It was time to get back to the hospital before he would no longer be able to without an ambulance.

* * *

Sherlock slipped in through the ER and made his way carefully back to his room. At one point he threw on a lab coat and surgical mask to get past a group of doctors. He was stopped a few times to be asked directions to the canteen, which he gracefully obliged to avoid detection. It was going well as he rounded the corner to his room. He removed his disguise and entered shutting the door behind him silently.

Sherlock turned and was startled, more than usual do to the increasing dizziness, to see John sitting in the chair against the wall.

"Oh look you're back. Have a nice evening out?" John said coldly.

"John, I- thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow morning? It's past eleven, visitors aren't even allowed at this hour how did you-"

"Seriously?!" John exclaimed now standing. "Bloody hell Sherlock! I was back at the flat trying to sleep but was kept awake worrying if you were okay and that you were alone. So, I pulled some strings with the nurse to stay here tonight only to find you weren't alone at all! You weren't even here! Where the hell have you been?!" John said furiously.

"I had to go out."

Sherlock removed his coat, scarf, suit jacket, and shoes and sat on the bed. This would be a longer conversation and he was struggling to focus.

"Go out? You are in no condition to 'go out'. Are you trying to kill yourself?! Where did you go that was so important?"

Sherlock's mind raced to come up with a reasonable excuse. A million stories began to write in his head any one of which would have fooled John enough. He was ready to explain it all away when he realized he couldn't. He had so desperately wanted to keep John out of the mess with Moriarty given what had happened last time, but Sherlock knew he owed John the truth. John had stayed by Sherlock's side through all of it before and his life was in as much danger through his association. Sherlock briefly marveled at his inability to lie to John, as he so easily did with others.

Sherlock had been silent for a while staring at John making him very anxious as he waited for an answer.

"Sherlock." John urged.

Sherlock snapped back into reality. He slowly looked down knowing John was about to erupt into fury.

"I met with Jim Moriarty." Sherlock said flatly.

John's face turned expressionless. "What?"

"You remember yesterday evening I received flowers. Attached was this card." Sherlock handed John the note. "Upon reading it, it became clear who was involved in my…assault. However, as you can see the contradicting messages sparked many questions that I needed answered. So I arranged to meet him."

"Jesus Sherlock…That's why you insisted I go back to the flat. What if something would've happened?! You- You could've been hurt. Or killed. Who knows what that psychopath could've-. You shouldn't have gone alone. You should have told me!"

"You would have tried to stop me."

"Damn right I would have stopped you! If something would have happened to you…You can't just keep running around like you're invincible! Especially now that-" John froze.

"Now that what?"

 _Now that I've become so hopelessly attached to you. Now that I have had to imagine losing you and couldn't bear it. Now that I need you._ "I- I just mean you've just experienced a traumatic injury and you have no business risking your life like that." John said quickly.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed unconvinced but let it pass. "I did what I had to do." Sherlock said laying back.

"You did what you wanted to do, not thinking about the consequences."

"I've always done what I thought was right. I've always had to decide for myself what risks are worth taking. I've been on my own for a long time and had only myself to rely on. I made the decision to meet Moriarty alone to protect you."

Sherlock's words hurt. "You're not on your own anymore. And you don't need to protect me. What must you see me as to think I couldn't handle this with you?" John said sadly.

"John-"

"Forget it Sherlock." John wanted to hear the answer to his question but it wasn't about him. He sat down pulling the chair by the bed. "Just tell me what happened." he said with a sigh.

* * *

Please Review! Thank you!

Next part up ASAP


	6. Calm Before the Storm

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

I really enjoyed this chapter, I hope you do too! :)

* * *

"I really don't think this is a good idea Sherlock, you need more time."

"I haven't got any more time. I need to get back to work."

"I may not be a genius like you Sherlock but don't insult what intelligence I do have. This isn't about that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he sat on the bed to put his shoes on. "Alright so it's not but I just can't lie around here anymore waiting."

"What do you expect to happen by leaving the hospital? Do you think Moriarty will call you up and say 'oh good, you're out of hospital now I can try and kill you again'." John said with dark humor.

"Of course not, he wouldn't have to wait for me to be out of the hospital for that. I need to get out of here and stretch my legs. It's been a week and a half."

"You're still not able to manage the pain without the morphine, and there's no way they're giving you any of that to take home and self-administer.

"That's what I have you for." Sherlock said with a sly smile.

"Oh and you just assume I'll be your live in doctor tending to your every need when you should still be here."

"Well…yes. Why else do you think I keep you around?" Sherlock said teasing.

John sighed resigned to his role because he knew Sherlock was resolved to discharge himself. John also knew he'd be right there taking care of Sherlock even if he was being an irresponsible, stubborn, arse.

Sherlock signed the appropriate papers and he and John left the hospital grabbing a cab back to Bakers St.

* * *

"Ahh. I feel better already!" Sherlock exclaimed stepping into the flat taking off his coat and scarf.

Sherlock hurried up the stairs, too quickly he realized becoming very winded upon reaching the top. He'd have to remember to take it slow, at first at least. Sherlock grabbed John's laptop, sat in his chair, and began browsing through the new cases that had been piling up.

John was usually very annoyed that Sherlock insisted on using his laptop all the time. Just this once he'd let it pass as he was secretly happy to see Sherlock sitting in his chair looking through emails like normal.

"I'll make some tea." John said smiling subconsciously.

John put the water on. Neither he nor Sherlock had had a substantial meal that mourning so he shuffled through the cupboards for some biscuits or muffins. God bless Mrs. Hudson for always doing a bit of shopping for them. He finished the tea, made up a tray with some jam, and brought it out and sat it on the coffee table.

John actually laughed a bit at this extremely domestic action. Maybe being back at the flat wouldn't be such a bad thing he thought. His momentary ignorance faded as he remembered. There was still the looming threat that Moriarty, either of them as it was, could come in at any moment and send them right back to the hospital, or worse.

John sat with a slump and poured himself a cup, staring into it contemplating what was in store.

Sherlock looked up from the laptop momentarily noticing John's solemn look.

"Normally I'm the one that sits silently lost in thought." Sherlock said inquisitively.

"What are we going to do?" John asked frankly.

Sherlock knew exactly what, or rather who, John was referring to. "We are going to solve cases."

"Jim said his brother would try again, and we have no idea how or when. What's even more insane is that I say Jim Moriarty like he's even a reliable source. How do you know this isn't just a rouse to confuse you?"

Sherlock shut the laptop. "It's not."

"Alright then. So there's two Moriartys. Jim and his older brother James. James is trying to kill you for who knows why. And Jim wants to offer you protection for who knows why. Both are complete psychopaths. Either way what's the plan? We can't just go on like normal until something happens."

"You shouldn't allow this to disrupt your life. When there's a major play in motion I'll know."

"I know you're not one for waiting Sherlock, if there's something going on, some angle you're working-"

"John. Trust me." Sherlock said looking straight into John's eyes.

John trusted Sherlock Holmes, sometimes to a fault. That was how he made it to this place, entangled in the web of criminals. But Sherlock had led him out of the melancholy civilian life he had been facing into the battleground of London's streets where he could be the soldier he was. John would always trust Sherlock Holmes, despite any faults.

John couldn't help but feel enslaved by his trust in Sherlock, now more than ever. And therefore, being simply asked for trust by the man meant more.

"Of course." John said suppressing the true emotion behind it.

They held each other's gaze for longer than either of them realized until John sheepishly looked down again at his tea.

For now the topic would rest.

Sherlock stood up from his chair and strode over to his web of notes, evidence, and pictures on the wall. He stood there staring and thinking.

John finished his tea and announced he was going to take a shower which, naturally, Sherlock didn't register.

Sherlock shifted through his mind from case to case, like usual solving most of them without ever having met the client. Those were consequently pushed aside as unimportant. He then moved on to the slightly more intriguing ones and made a note to set up meetings to learn more. There where one or two in particular that stood out from the rest and he decided those would be their next venture.

Sherlock looked around slightly disoriented. Where's John he thought. He heard the dull patter of the shower and remembered. He shook it off and back into his mind palace he dove.

He connected lines in his mind from place to place. He scanned through evidence and pictures. He began developing an idea for an exciting new series of experiments.

Again Sherlock looked around. John's been gone a while? Hasn't he? No, never mind he thought again remembering.

It went on like this for the next few hours. Sherlock would be deep in thought and suddenly there he was, John. Where was John? In the kitchen. What was he doing? Reading a book. Something would remind Sherlock of John and distract him. It was so frustrating and he couldn't make it stop. Why was this happening?

Surely it couldn't just be John's physical presence that was distracting, it never had before. He'd need to test this theory. Perhaps some time alone in the flat would allow him to concentrate.

"We're out of milk." Sherlock said louder than he meant to.

John looked up from typing on his blog. He was completely confused by this outburst as Sherlock had been standing in the same spot for the last four hours. He hadn't gone near the fridge.

"What?"

"Milk. We need some. Can you go to the market?" Sherlock said not looking away from the wall.

"Now?"

"Yes please."

John didn't understand but Sherlock had just said please, which was an extremely rare occurrence. He certainly wasn't going to discourage him from saying it in the future by declining.

"Um…okay I guess." John closed his laptop and put on his coat. "I'll be back soon then, want anything else while I'm there?"

Sherlock actually did require a few items for his latest experiment idea. John would ask what they were for and that would lead to a longer conversation and that wasn't the goal he thought. One experiment at a time.

"No nothing else for me."

"Alright then."

John left the flat and Sherlock was finally alone.

* * *

An hour or so passed until Sherlock heard the door open downstairs. Interesting, he thought. Minus one minor incident, Sherlock had managed to stay on track with his thoughts. What did this mean he wondered?

"Sorry I took so long, I grabbed some take away on the way back." John called up the stairs.

John hauled some grocery bags and a brow package of take-out food up the stairs and set it on the 'clearish' table.

"I don't care what you are doing, stop now and eat something." John said firmly.

Sherlock groaned but surprisingly obediently joined John in the kitchen and began to clear the table.

John noticed Sherlock moving rather slowly and almost wincing a bit with each action. "Sherlock are you in pain?"

Sherlock tried to better conceal his pained movements. "No more than to be expected."

"This isn't going to work unless you tell me when you're hurting. I need to know in case it's something serious. Unless you'd prefer to go back to the hospital" John said in his best commanding officer voice.

Sherlock sighed. "Alright yes. But I can't think with the morphine. It's only good for…" Sherlock realized perhaps now wasn't the time to reminisce. "I can handle it."

"Yeah, until you pass out. Then you really won't be able to think." John grabbed the pill bottle from his 'secret hiding place', which Sherlock knew all about. He knocked out the pills and held them out. "I never thought I'd say this, but take the damn pills."

Sherlock smirked a bit and John shot him an unamused look.

"Fine. Doctor." He said reluctantly accepting them. Sherlock was curiously captivated by John's 'take charge' attitude. He considered being wounded more often.

They ate in silence as usual. Sherlock ate his entire portion for once, of course not realizing how hungry he had gotten. John cleared the containers and Sherlock went to shower.

Just as John had finished tidying up in the kitchen and sat in his chair there was a knock at the door. John sighed and started down the stairs.  _Bloody client probably_. He really needed to post an 'out of office' sign after eight he thought.

He opened the door revealing a tall woman with hair up neat, ruby red pumps, and lipstick to match. She looked like she had just stepped off the cat-walk. There was something else, John thought he recognized her but he couldn't quite remember from where.

"Ehem…Hello?" said the woman impatiently.

John hadn't realized he'd been staring. "Yes, hello sorry. What can I do for you? Are you here to see Sherlock Holmes?"

"Why yes I am. I do apologies for visiting at such a late hour. May I come in?"

"Yes of course. He's just washing up I'm sure he'll be out soon. You can follow me." John led her up and into the sitting room. "Please take a seat anywhere you like. Would you like some tea?"

"That would be lovely." She replied sitting in Sherlock's chair.

John smiled and turned to the kitchen then realized he had forgotten his manners. "I'm sorry I'm John Watson. I don't think I got your name?"

"Oh yes, Ms. Moran."

"Pleasure to meet you Ms. Moran. Tea will be right up."

She smiled politely in acknowledgement. John busied himself making up a pot for the three of them.

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom wearing slacks and a t-shirt. He walked into his bedroom not taking notice of the woman. "John do you know where I put the bible. I've just thought of something." Sherlock yelled down the hallway.

John smiled wearily at Ms. Moran and quickly scurried toward Sherlock's room. "We've got a guest Sherlock, said she's here to see you so client I assume." He said quietly.

"Oh. Excellent"

Sherlock walked down the hallway to meet the latest client. It would make for a perfect end to his first day back, assuming it was an interesting one. His attitude could've almost been mistaken for excitement. He reached the sitting room and suddenly stopped.

John looked at Sherlock confused. Obviously he had recognized Ms. Moran. And then it hit him, this was the woman Sherlock had gone to see the night before the shooting. He didn't know what to make of the two glaring it seemed at each other.

"Awfully bold of you to come here alone." Sherlock said condescendingly.

"Whoever said I was alone?" Ms. Moran replied confidently.

"Oh I'm well aware of the men you've got park outside but they will be of little use in here."

"That's why I've brought this." The woman pulled out a small handgun from her handbag and aimed it at Sherlock.

John's eyes flashed as he took a step toward Sherlock defensively, but he was waved off. "I'm sensing I've missed something." John said cautiously.

"This is Sasha Moran. James Moriarty's right hand. The woman who led the failed mission to kill me. Tell me was he very cross with you?"

"That can easily be corrected now." She spat.

"We both know that's not why you've come."

Moran's eyes narrowed with annoyance. "Very well. This was merely for your compliance." She stood. "Dr. Watson, if you'll come here please."

John looked at Sherlock for guidance but Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the woman. He wasn't afraid, he was a soldier before he was Sherlock's blogger. He confidently walked over to stand in front of Ms. Moran.

Sherlock had no way of knowing what was about to happen or how to get the gun out of the madwoman's hand. Dozens of scenarios played out in his mind, all of them ending in either he or John being shot. He needed to get control of the situation.

She raised the gun to John's chest. "That's close enough." She placed a small vial on the end table. "Pick it up." She instructed.

John eyed the small vial suspiciously. It contained a clear liquid.

"Now if you please." She insisted

John hesitantly picked it up.

"Open the vial and drink."

"What? What is it?" John demanded.

She remained silent.

Sherlock's eyes widened. Was he about to witness his best friend be poisoned? He had to stop this, but he didn't know how.

"What is it?" Sherlock now demanded.

Ms. Moran smiled. "It's just a little incentive. You see Mr. Holmes, my boss has decided that he may have acted a tad rashly before. You have utility. This here is a rare toxin that becomes lethal within three days if the antidote is not administered. That's where you come in…You will be contacted with instructions for a job he wants completed and in return John Watson will live."

"What if I refuse to drink it?" John said with as much courage as he could muster. "You should just shoot me now, I won't allow Sherlock to become your pawn on my behalf-"

"John-"Sherlock tried to stop him but John continued.

"And you've already said you haven't come here to kill him, which means you aren't authorized to."

Sherlock looked down sadly, he knew what was coming next.

"You should leave the deductions to the detective…Quite the contrary in fact. If you won't play the game than we have no use for Mr. Holmes. If you don't drink, I've been instructed to kill him right here, right now." She turned her gun again on Sherlock. "What will it be?"

John looked at Sherlock who looked like he was about to explode from the thoughts desperately trying to work a way out of this. John knew he had no choice. Never mind himself, this would be Sherlock's best chance of survival.

"John, no. John, don't. Please, you don't need to do this." Sherlock pleaded though he knew the alternative was his own death.

"We'll figure it out Sherlock, we always do."

John opened the top. He chuckled much to Sherlock's surprise. "It was a pretty good day, other than this."

John tipped back the vial and swallowed.

* * *

Please Review! Thank you!

Next part up ASAP.


	7. Servitude to the Devil

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Very good Dr. Watson. We'll be in touch." Ms. Moran headed for the door.

"When?" asked Sherlock trying to regain his composure.

"Tomorrow morning. The gravity of the situation will have sunken in by then." She looked deviously at John.

As much as he hated it, Sherlock had no choice but to trust her.

John and Sherlock remained still and silent while Moran left the flat. As soon as the door slammed shut, Sherlock practically leapt across the room toward John.

"John. How do you feel? Light headed, dizzy, nauseous?" he said quickly examining John's face with his hands.

"Sher- Sherlo- Sherlock, I feel- fine. Would you-. Would you calm down?" John said struggling to speak with Sherlock squishing his face.

Sherlock dropped his hands so John could speak.

"Whatever this is I imagine it will take some time to affect me."

Sherlock pushed his hands through his hair turning away from John. His mind was reeling. He couldn't think, why couldn't he think? It was John, he was just poisoned. He  _needed_  to think.

"I stuffed this in my pocket in case she intended to take it back." John held out the vial. "There's sure to be traces in it, maybe you could figure out what she gave me?"

Sherlock turned back to John with a whirl. "Yes, perhaps." Sherlock snatched the vial and looked at it like he was trying to analyze its contents with just his eyes. He doubted Moran had been careless enough to leave it by mistake, therefore examining the toxin would probably be useless. But he would keep that to himself for John's sake, it allowed some sense of hope. It wouldn't hurt to at least know what they were dealing with.

"Sherlock…look at me."

Sherlock looked up.

"I don't want you to do what he says."

"I can't see another choice." Sherlock said sounding defeated.

"Whatever it is they make you do, he means to ruin you. I won't let myself be the reason."

"If I don't do what he says…the consequences will ruin me."

John looked down not knowing what to say. He couldn't convince Sherlock not to save his life when he had just done the same for Sherlock.

"I should take you to the hospital."

John's earlier thought about the hospital was now confirmed and he was headed for the 'worse'. "No."

"You're the biggest advocate for seeking medical attention. You've been poisoned. Now is not the time to be a hero."

"I know you're just saying that to make me feel better. We both know there's nothing they can do or it wouldn't be very good leverage."

John was right, Sherlock had already had that thought.

"Then what do you want to do?"

John took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You should get to work on that. We'll deal with the symptoms when they present themselves. If there's anything I can help with-"

"No, I'll be quicker on my own."

"Okay. Then I'll just…keep myself busy." John picked up his laptop and sat in his chair.

Sherlock turned to go to the kitchen with all of his equipment. "John…are you sure?"

"Yes."

John tapped at his laptop for an hour. He began feeling an unusual exhaustion.

"Sherlock, I'm going to call it a night."

Sherlock looked up from his microscope at John who was, slowly, standing up and stretching. He noticed John's lethargic movements as he walked around the chair to head up to his room.

"Will you…be okay alone?"

"I think so. Night. Get some sleep will you?" John walked up to his room heavy footed.

* * *

The sound of glass smashing into tiny shards echoed through the flat.

John, who had just hobbled down the stairs, made his way to the kitchen to investigate.

Sherlock was standing, fists clenched, facing toward the counter. The remnants of the vial laid strewn across the counter on the opposite side of the room.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't turn only tensing further. "I'll clean it up."

"What happened? Have you been up all night?" Sherlock was still wearing his same shirt and dress pants.

"I can't do it John." Sherlock said with a snap in his voice.

"Do what?"

"I can't fix this." Sherlock turned to the table tearing through the papers and slides. "I was able to identify the toxin. I can tell you its chemical makeup, its origin. I can tell you it comes from a Vermanti Viper nearly extinct and only found in the Middle East. I can tell you it was popularly used for assassinations in ancient Egypt. What I can't do is cure it."

"Slow down Sherlock-"

"The antidote is very unstable and is only viable for one hour. It must be made and then immediately administered. The ingredients are immensely rare and hard to come by. Even Mycroft with all his talents wouldn't be able to get me the things I need in time."

"Sherlock…" John had been dizzy and sick since he had gotten out of bed. He was becoming increasingly disoriented.

"Don't you see John, I've solved it. He made it so I could see the way out but would never be able to attain it without following his rules. A neatly wrapped ultimatum."

"Sherlock calm down…I don't…" John needed to sit down but as he attempted to take a step toward a kitchen chair an unbelievable pain shot up through his legs and he stopped breathless.

"Oh he's good John. Very good. It was foolish to expect anything less from a Moriarty. He-"

Sherlock stopped. His tantrum of frustration slipped away as he noticed John leaning back against the wall breathing shallowly.

"John are you okay?"

Weakly John croaked. "I don't feel so good…" And then he crashed to the floor.

* * *

John stirred, the light almost blinding him as he opened his eyes. He attempted to sit up but decided against it because of the searing pain in all of his extremities. He took in his surroundings trying to remember. He was in Sherlock's room which was odd, on Sherlock's bed which was odder. John nearly jumped when he turned his head to see Sherlock sitting in a chair against the wall staring at him.

"Sherlock? What…happened?"

"You passed out."

"Oh…" Then he remembered Sherlock talking, becoming overwhelmingly ill, then everything going black. "Why am I-"

"In my room. I wasn't about to drag you up the stairs."

"Right…erm… John decided to give sitting up another try. Sherlock's back straightened and his expression tensed as John struggled in pain.

"So you picked me off the floor and brought me in here?"

"Yes."

"Oh…thanks."

Sherlock just stared. "John."

"Don't Sherlock. This isn't your fault."

"It is. I dragged you into this."

"It's not and no you didn't. I chose this."

"Why?"

John knew the real answer but it wasn't something he was ready to share. Not now, maybe not ever. "I wasn't about to let her kill you."

"That's not what I mean. Why did you choose…all of this?"

John's heart rate quickened. "Sherlock, I…don't know what you want me to say."

"The truth. Why would you help me, why would you save me."

It was at least partially easy to answer. "I believe in you. You're a good person and, as much as you don't believe it, you don't deserve to have to face everything alone."

Sherlock looked down and sat up in his chair. "I've asked Molly to come over and keep an eye on you."

John was momentarily fazed by the abrupt topic change. "Oh, why? I'm not dead yet."

Sherlock smirked but it quickly faded. "I have to go out for a while and I don't want you to be here alone."

John immediately knew what that meant. Sherlock was going out to do Moriarty's bidding. "Where? Were you contacted, what is it that he wants you to do?

Sherlock remained silent.

"Sherlock I've already said I don't want you to do it-"

"Dammit John, I'm not just going to let you die."

John was stunned speechless. This outburst of emotion was so incredibly unlike Sherlock that John didn't know what to think.

Sherlock looked up at John with child-like hesitation and then quickly looked back down.

"From what I've read you will experience gradual increases in nerve pain and several more episodes of blackouts. In the next day you won't be able to stand and will only be able to remain conscious for small periods of time. Eventually you will become comatose until you…finally fade away. I'm telling you this because as a medical man I know you want me to be straight with you. But I also want you to understand there is a small window until the antidote too will be useless. I will not sit here and watch you wither. I will do what is asked of me and I will save your life no matter the cost. And if I'm lucky you might even forgive me for it."

Before John could even think of a response Sherlock stood up and left the room.

John stared blankly at the wall. There was no talking Sherlock out of doing something he felt strongly about, and there was no one Sherlock felt more strongly about than John.

John contemplated what Sherlock's intense emotion toward him meant. Whenever John was threatened Sherlock would become like a dragon protecting its hoard of gold. John wondered if he was Sherlock's gold, it was like he was what Sherlock treasured above all else. The thought made him smile but he then began to think of the absurdity that Sherlock Holmes could care so much about a blogger he had a flat-share with.

If it were true, it seemed this protectiveness would be devastatingly destructive. Sherlock had remarked that John might not forgive him for saving his life which seemed ridiculous. It then tortured John's mind to think of what sort of act Sherlock would have to commit to cause the inability to forgive it.

John decided he would catch Sherlock before he left and make one last effort to stop him. However, the dizzying pain as he attempted to stand proved to render that idea impossible.

"Sherlock!" John yelled desperately.

No response.

"Sherlock!" He yelled again even more determined.

No response. John heard shuffling, he would keeping trying as he was obviously being ignored.

"Sherl-" John stopped as Molly swiftly entered the room.

"Oh hello, It's just me here. Sherlock just left. He said you knew I was coming. Did you need something?"

John sighed disappointed. "He left just now? Did he say anything? Or when he'd be back?"

"Nope…Oh yeah he said to tell you he'd see you later and he'd be out for a long while but he didn't say specifically."

John lowered his head a bit, silence passing for several moments.

"Sorry, did you need something before? I can get you anything you need, just ask. Some tea? Or some tissues or something?"

John looked puzzled and slightly annoyed at Molly. "What exactly did he tell you was wrong with me?"

"Erm…he just said you were sick and that I wasn't to ask any questions…"

"Right. No I don't need anything thank you."

"Okay I'll be just out here if you need me." Molly smiled encouragingly.

John nodded politely and Molly left the room.

John sat back on the bed again. He cursed himself for being so useless. Sherlock was who knows where doing who know what sort of unspeakable things on his behalf. There had to be something he could do. One thing was for sure, despite the pain he wasn't going to sulk on Sherlock's bed the rest of the day. Maybe he could get on the phone with Lestrade and tell him to watch Sherlock's back. It would probably be futile but it was one small thing he could manage.

"Molly!" John called softly.

Molly entered the room. "Hm. Do you need something?"

"Yes, could you possibly help me out into the sitting room to my chair? I would prefer not to be cooped up in here. If it's no trouble."

"Don't be silly, it's no trouble at all." She sprang to John's side and tenderly helped John up.

Molly gave John pitiful but concerned looks every time a wave of pain escaped his lips until they finally reached John's chair.

Nervously Molly lingered by the chair. "Are you sure you shouldn't see a doctor?"

"I am a doctor, I'll be fine." John lied. "There is one more thing you could do for me. Could you grab the phone its right over-" John paused noticing a brown padded package sitting on the end table next to his chair. "-there."

"Sure." Molly replied as she began to search the area John had pointed out.

John picked up the package and read the address. It was addressed to 221B from an address he recognized in the upper class of London. It was the apartment building Sherlock had visited the night before his attack. The flat that he now knew belonged to Sasha Moran. He realized, this must be James Moriarty's promised instructions.

John removed the singular sheet of paper inside and eagerly began to read it. He finished and his hand dropped.

"Here it is!" Molly exclaimed finally having found the phone. She returned to John and held it out. She noticed a sort of haunted look on John's face.

"What's wrong?"

John swallowed trying to believe the words on the page himself.

"It's a kill order."

* * *

Please Review! Thank you!

Next part up ASAP


	8. Blood On Our Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know its been a long while but this chapter finally came to me. I struggled with it but it is what it needed to be. Hope you enjoy!

John was bounding up the stairs to his bedroom before the paper hit the ground.

“John what are you doing?!” Molly exclaimed startled.

A few moments passed before John was leaping down the stairs again. He grabbed his coat, shoving it on and priming his gun before concealing it behind his back.

“Where are you going? I don’t understand what did you mean ‘it’s a kill order.’?”

“I have to stop him. He’s doing this for me.” John said, panic in his voice.

“Doing what?”

“He’s going to kill someone Molly! He’s going to kill them in exchange for my life. I won’t let this happen, I won’t let that man make Sherlock into a monster!” John headed for the door.

“Wait! You’re sick John you can barely walk. You won’t make it ten steps out that door before collapsing.”

John’s head was spinning. His body was surging with excruciating agony with each step he took. But it didn’t matter. He had sacrificed himself to save Sherlock and it would be for nothing if it had only traded death for servitude to the devil.

“I have to try.” John hurried down the stairs and opened the front door. The daylight hit him like a brick wall stinging his eyes and causing him to stumble back onto the steps. Molly had caught up with him.

“I can’t let you go John.”

“Like hell you can’t!” John heaved himself back onto his feet.

“I’m sorry for this.” Molly said sadly.

John felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck and the hall grew fuzzy. “What…did you…”

“I promised Sherlock.”

John struggled for a moment and then all went black.

 

It was hours before John finally came to. He was sprawled across the sofa covered in a quilt. He blinked slowly clearing the glaze from his vision and glanced toward the window. It was night. He attempted to stand but failed feeling a pinch in his forearm. He investigated discovering he was hooked up to an IV drip.

“Molly?” he softly called.

Sherlock emerged from the kitchen. “She left an hour ago.”

“Oh.” John swore he had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. “What is this?”

Sherlock walked over and sat on the ottoman next to John. “It’s the anti-venom. You should be feeling better soon.”

“No.” was all John could manage. He knew what his recovery had cost. John stared into Sherlock’s eyes, desperate for him to say that he had found another way. That he wasn’t a murderer.

Sherlock said nothing.

“Sherlock, tell me you didn’t…”

He remained silent and looked away.

“Please…” John could feel his heart breaking.

“You’re safe now.”

“No! No, no, no!” John forced himself to sit up, he refused to believe it. “What happened Sherlock, what have you done?”

John couldn’t hold back the anger he felt, even if whatever unspeakable evil had been done was done to save his life. Sherlock couldn’t be this, sure he wasn’t above collateral damage as a means to justify an end in extreme circumstances, but he wasn’t a cold blooded killer. John would rather be dead then look at his best friend like he was right now. Like he didn’t know the man sitting next to him. It wasn’t true…it couldn’t be.

“Look at me, look at me Sherlock and tell me you didn’t kill anyone.” John calmed his voice as much as physically possible holding on to every breath in the silence that filled the next few moments.

“I did what I had to do.” Sherlock finally whispered, a slight crack in his voice.

John’s heart sank. So far it might as well have fallen right out onto the floor between them. He stared at the far wall expressionless, unable to speak, move, think. His breath hitched quick and shallow. The calm before the storm. Finally his mind could no longer hold back the wave of shock, grief, and anger that swelled inside him. Sherlock had been right. He couldn’t forgive him.

 

John was roused into consciousness by the morning sun beaming through the open window. He lay still on the couch, the room was frigid and empty apart from him.

John had wanted to walk out of the flat last night and just keep walking till his feet bled, but hadn’t the strength. He didn’t know what to do or what to think, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t say a word to Sherlock. After a while he laid down face toward the cushions, his mind numb. He didn’t know when Sherlock had left as he had obviously fallen asleep as the drugs took effect.  
He wiped the sleep from his face feeling wetness. He had been crying, in his sleep presumably. He wasn’t entirely sure that it wouldn’t resume in his now conscious state.

“Sher-“ He called out reflexively, stopping abruptly. Did he want Sherlock to answer? What would he even say?

John looked up at the I.V. bag, now empty. Judging from his much improved state he assumed the treatment had been successful and carefully extracted the needle from his fore arm. He stood stiffly, at loss for what to do now. He wanted to read the order again. Read the name of the person whose life had been traded for his own, but the very thought turned his dangerously empty stomach. He resigned to starting with a shower, hopefully to clear his mind.

After a long painstakingly stiff washing, John wrapped up in a robe and ascended to his room in search of fresh clothing. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a beige woolen jumper. Sitting on the edge of his bed he stared at the wall. He just sat there, he didn’t know or care how long, thinking of a way around this. Sherlock was his best friend and…as much as his mind told him to run far away his heart was compelling him to stay. To find a way to fix this, there had to be a way to fix this. Suddenly, he heard shuffling down stairs. Sherlock was back.   
It took all his courage to stand and walk to the stairs. To walk not knowing who he would find down them.

He didn’t immediately see anyone until moving into the kitchen.

Sherlock was standing, leaning over the table reading from a file, immediately looking up as John entered the room. The two men stared in silence before both looking away.

“Are you feeling better?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“Yes.” John replied coldly.

“That’s…good.” Silence again filled the room, so completely that it seemed deafening.

John couldn’t take this, he needed to know, he didn’t want to but he needed to.

“Tell me what happened, I’ve already assumed the worst. I know you, the real you. And the man I know isn’t capable of what was written in the letter. Capable of…Please, just tell me what happened.” John had an increasingly difficult time controlling the desperate emotion is his voice feeling his eyes begin to burn.

Sherlock straightened. 

“You said you would trust me.” Sherlock said plainly.

“Maybe that’s the problem!” John exclaimed. He could see his words visibly pain Sherlock. He didn’t care. “I can’t…I don’t know what to think let alone trust!”

Sherlock continued to look down as if trying to find the right words etched into the wooden table. “I can’t…tell you everything right now, it’ll only complicate things further-“

“You haven’t told me anything!” John cut in. “God help me Sherlock, give me something, you can’t expect me to blindly follow you this time. I killed a murderous cabbie who was coercing people to suicide to save you from your self-destructive ego and I didn’t bat an eye! I watched as you played genius Stratego with a psychopath with real bomb-strapped people as the pieces! Don’t ask me if I trust you dammit, ask me why I do!”

John’s fist was clenched so tightly he thought it would break. He was trying so hard to remember Sherlock was his friend and a good person, but the betrayal he felt clouded all logical judgement. All he could see was blood on Sherlock’s hands, blood on his own hands. 

“If you were expecting me to be grateful for saving my life, well…you should’ve let me die.”

“Don’t say that!” Sherlock snapped his head up looking intensely at John. 

“Why!? It would be better than living with this guilt. Why do I get to live and some poor sod gets to die in my place. What exactly is my life worth now!?”

“Everything!” Sherlock shouted. “It’s worth everything…to me.” The angst and sincerity in Sherlock’s face was staggering.

John could only look into Sherlock’s eyes. Trying to read his mind like Sherlock so easily seemed to be able to do with others.

“John…” Sherlock tried to continue.  
John closed his eyes. He figured it out. What he felt when Sherlock was shot. What he felt from the moment he meet Sherlock. He knew what it was because he could see it now in Sherlock’s eyes. And the worst part was, he wanted it, but now he couldn’t stand it.

John opened his eyes seeing Sherlock staring at him, seemingly shocked at his own outburst. All John could do was brake his gaze and look down.

“That’s not enough” John sadly muttered. He backed away, headed down the stairs and out the flat. Running it felt like. He needed to be anywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! Thnx!
> 
> Next part up hopefully sooner than the last!


	9. Grey Areas in War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note:
> 
> So this chapter just kind of...happened. It's a little shorter. It wasn't what I had planned but I'm pleased with how it turned out. You'll get more insight from John than Sherlock, mostly because I identify more on an emotional level with John's character and I like that, even though in this story he comes from my head, you can never really get into Sherlock's mind completely. At least not yet.
> 
> There is a minor trigger warning for war depiction.

Sherlock felt emotions rush into his throat, trying to force their way into fruition. He wanted to run after him, but was stunned in place. He want to say so much, he wanted to make John understand but he couldn’t understand it himself. Sherlock knew what he needed to tell John but too much was at stake, and it would only cause John more pain. But perhaps that didn’t matter now.

If anything, John had proven time and time again to be a vital anchor in Sherlock’s life. And now, Sherlock was in the midst of the most complex long game he’d ever entered into. Without John on his side, Sherlock didn’t know who he would be when he reached the end. More than that, for the first time in a very long time, Sherlock was afraid. Afraid of this path he had chosen, afraid of the sick exhilaration it gave him, and afraid that as a result, he would almost certainly lose John forever. The thought of falling so far back into that place before John was, surprisingly, cripplingly unbearable. He could tell himself that this all started in an effort to save John’s life, and that was true in the sense that it had cemented Sherlock’s resolve, but he knew the wheels of this war had begun long ago and there was no stopping it now.

There was only one option. John would not follow blindly this time, nor did he deserve to have to, and Sherlock’s chances of survival without him where slim to none. A conclusion that enlightened and enticed him but at the same time made what was to come immeasurably more painful.

Sherlock pulled his mobile from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, typed a short message and, after a brief pause, pressed send.

“God help us all.” Sherlock whispered into the empty room.

 

John could feel the stiff tenderness in his legs, a lingering symptom from the poison. His brisk half-run quickly slowed to a dull amble. Every stage of grief seemed to pass through his mind with each step until his mind stilled to a peaceful emptiness. By the time he had the sense to take awareness in his surroundings he was already 5 or so blocks away nearing a small market district. He stopped in the first café he saw and ordered a strong coffee. It was a more mainstream location with many people buzzing in and out. John sat in a plush leather lounging chair by the window watching people bustle, most in a hurry to get to the daily grind, some dawdling with friends. 

How simple it is for them all, John thought to himself. 

He watched as a particularly arrogant patron berated a barista for using 2% instead of skim milk in his latte. Any other time John would have written this man off as a basic scumbag, but now he couldn’t help but stop a think, was he really that bad? Maybe he was having a particularly bad morning, or maybe his wife had left him recently, or maybe that barista always messed up people’s orders and deserved a good yelling at. At what point do you decide if someone is a good or a bad person. 

Soon enough the distraction fell away into background noise.

You could never truly tell just by look at them, tho he knew a certain consulting detective that would disagree. One of the many things John had learned from being a soldier is that the world was rarely ever so black and white. Immediately he flashed back to the events that had discharged him from the army leading him here.

There had been a casualty heavy incursion from a small Taliban militia in a neighbouring town. John’s unit was immediately called in to action, warned that not all of the hostiles had been neutralized. The attack had caught them off guard but it was a day like any other, people to treat at risk of life and limb. He entered the combat zone with his unit, making his way through the maze of sandy stone structures in search of wounded. After stabilizing several injuries they made a last sweep before they would be forced to leave the area again. John was twisting around corners with the lieutenant medic when suddenly there was a sharp pop and stone began to fly through the air. He hit the ground harder than he meant to, dazing his vision. Instinctively he looked for his lieutenant, whom he saw faced into the dirt, unmoving. Before he could act, an assault rifle was thrust into John’s face. He looked at the young man holding it. He was halfheartedly pointing it at John struggling to aim, the cause of which was a grievous blast wound in his center torso. Adrenaline pumping, seconds passing in horror, John swiftly pulled the gun from the young Afghani boy’s hand and turned it on him.

The next few moments would be ingrained in John’s mind forever. He had relived it seemingly every night when he returned to London. Watching the life drain from the misguided boy’s body, as he attempted to stabilize the lieutenant. The boy moaned prayers and called out the word for mother in Pashto. Every thought about what his name was, who his family was, and what had led him there at such a tender age. They were some of John’s last thoughts before he was struck in the shoulder from another source, black eventually swallowing him.

John breathed heavily feeling a pain shoot up this leg. “Damn-“ 

That was the day John realized, more fervently than before, that evil is made, not born. Then evil breeds more evil and the cycle continues, never ending. Very few are inherently good or bad, yet simultaneously have the potential for both. An unfortunate depiction of current circumstances.

John closed his eyes and took several deep breaths bringing himself back to the safety of the London café where he sat with his almost cold coffee.

Sherlock was a great man who had always struggled with being a good one. John always thought he knew better than the others, that he truly knew the real, good, Sherlock. It had occurred to him many times that Sherlock had that same potential for truly elegant evil but it was only ever a passing thought. But one of the many things John had learned as a soldier was that the world was rarely ever so black and white, and the great Sherlock Holmes was no exception. Sherlock had fought so hard and so long for the good, that he never truly had a taste of the pure malevolence he was capable of. John knew despite anything he was feeling right now that he could not, and would not, abandon Sherlock to that kind of darkness. If it was true, and Sherlock had done the unthinkable, John would do whatever necessary to bring him back. In the end, there was never really a choice, he could never leave Sherlock’s side, not anymore. Even if that meant bending every fiber of his moral being to stay. 

He was chained to the man. It was a selfish kind of love.

John sat up straight suddenly at that thought. “L-…” It was the first time he’d even thought that word to himself. He smiled a pained smile down at his cup.

“God help us all.” He muttered softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, next update will be soon while the muse is still singing :)
> 
> I appreciate reviews:)


	10. Testing Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back for a bit, enjoy!  
> Comment or review if you'd like, I appreciate feedback X)

John hurried back to the flat, as if his quick pace would instill him with some semblance of what to do next. As he approached the door he noted the black Mercedes parked out front.

“Bloody Mycroft.” As if this day could get any more complicated, he thought to himself.

He pushed through the door, and just as it clicked closed behind him he was meet with Sherlock practically sweeping down the stairs. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, pausing briefly and initially struggling to make eye contact before his suave persona kicked back in.

“I have no right to ask you this but-“

“You’re right you don’t.” John stated more angrily then he had intended.

“BUT, I need you to at least trust me now in these next few minutes more than ever. No one is in danger…presently…and I need you to have an open mind.”

“You are fu-” John took a deep breath. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see. But before you do, I need you to give me your gun.” Sherlock said with a stern tone to his voice.

“My gun? What makes you think I have my gun on me? Also why in heaven’s name would I give it to you?”

Sherlock let out a light, guilty sigh. “I know you, and I know that the unease of our current situation has probably had you falling back to past safety habits. Understandably of course. Under threat of physical harm it’s natural to want to stay close to the object of protection you have always been able to rely on. Especially when…when you aren’t sure who…has your back…” Sherlock trailed off not wanting to finish that sentence.

“Dammit, I don’t need to be psycho-analyzed right now. So what if I have it? I ask again, why would I give it to YOU?”

John wanted to be trusting, he had told himself he would try. But every word came out more bitter than the last.

“John I…You were right.”

John’s eyebrows raised at that.

“Keeping you in the dark, especially when you’re obviously in this dangerous game as much as me, isn’t fair or safe for that matter. If I could go back to that lab at Bart’s and tell you to piss off instead of inviting you to see a flat with me I would in a second because it would have spared you all of this. This life that I had no right to rope another person into. But I can’t and that will haunt me longer than I care to think of. All I can do, and have been trying to do, is make the smartest decisions I can to end and win this death game for good. And in doing so, release you from the shackles of a detrimental life around me.”

Sherlock had started calm, carefully choosing his words, but that last sentence came out in a burst of guilt and pain. To John, it felt like a swift kick in the gut. That’s not what John wanted at all. This moment cemented that with horrifying clarity.

“Sherlock, I never-“ John tried to get out with a slight quiver developing in his voice, which had completely replaced any anger it previously had.

“I also know that despite everything you now believe me to be, for whatever reason, you still believe IN me. I know this because you’re standing in front of me right now. I probably won’t ever understand the faith you put in me in light of who I am and what I’ve done, not just speaking of recent events but of everything since you’ve known me. But right now, I have to selfishly take advantage of that faith in hopes that I can start to make this right. Will you let me try?”

This is who Sherlock was. Insightful to a fault, and not just his own. And it had to be the most painful facet of such a brilliant mind. John wanted…needed to argue with Sherlock’s reasoning but it wouldn’t be right here right now. Right now, he needed to make a decision to continue to believe in Sherlock. Or to walk away for good. But there was never any choice.

John looked down at the floor taking a deep breath as he un-holstered his gun. 

“Why am I doing this anyways?” John lightly queried as he slowly handed the pistol to Sherlock.

“Thank you.” The ever so rare phrase left Sherlock’s lips with sincerity and the underlying guilt that was there to stay. “Follow me.” Sherlock gestured as they ascended the stairs.

As they entered the flat John heard the taping of impatient fingers on his chair side table.

“Don’t scratch the wood.” John quipped at the figure faced away sitting in his chair, whom he had assumed to be Mycroft.

“Darling I wouldn’t dream of it, what kind of barbarian do you think I am?”

John felt his blood run ice cold. That voice. Deep, condescending, with a deranged flair. Before John had another second to process, the man stood. 

“Hello John, did you miss me?” said Jim Moriarty with the off putting twinkle of insanity he so loved to play up in his black eyes.

John instinctively jerked for his gun. Dammit Sherlock.

“What? Is it antique?” Jim quipped.

“What!?” John glared at the consulting criminal still in a state of shock. “Sherlock explain to me right now why this mass murdering psychopath is seemingly right at home in our lounge and if I don’t like the answer god help me I will tackle that gun away from you and shoot him where he stands” The hairs on the back if John’s neck stood straight as he snapped into Captain Watson mode. He wanted answers. He would have answers.

“Just calm down before you do something you’ll regret. I promise I’ll explain. Maybe you should just sit-“

“I will not fucking sit and you will do more than just explain! Bloody hell Sherlock, after that night you said you would tell me if anything with Moriarty, either of them as it were, went into motion. I would have throttled you right then and there if I knew that meant inviting him to fucking tea!”

“John please, you gave me the gun as a sign of your trust. He can’t hurt you or me. Please just hear me out.” Sherlock pleaded.

“Uh oh, trouble in paradise?” Jim butt in obviously amused by the situation he was causing.

John and Sherlock shot him the same annoyed look shouting in tandem “Shut up!”

Jim just smiled more.

“Give me my gun.” John stared at Sherlock who didn’t move a muscle. “Give me my gun Sherlock!”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not!” John practically yelled.

“Because he saved your life!” Sherlock practically yelled back.

Silence filled the room. John looked down at the ground, then up to Sherlock, then at Jim, and finally back at Sherlock. A feeling of sickness started to build as he finally began to understand.

John opened his mouth to speak, but what words where there for this.

“Just let me explain.” Sherlock quickly continued. “I couldn’t find a way- And you were…I needed his help.”

John felt his stomach twisting. “So you had him kill that man…”

“No! No one was killed. I…contracted…Jim to set it up to look as though I had fulfilled the order. He knew what his older brother would do to confirm it and had the connections to secure safe, quick, and untraceable relocation for the target and his family. We knew we wouldn’t be able to fool him for long, but just long enough.”

“Long enough for what?”

“For me to infiltrate my dearest brother’s black market lab and steal the antidote.” Jim confidently cut in.

John’s gaze moved to Jim, who stared back for a moment before continuing. “Easy really, the hard part is what comes next.”

John looked back to Sherlock. “If you stole the antidote, why haven’t they come after us yet?” I’d be dead if I hadn’t gotten it and since obviously I’m not, wouldn’t they know? And if they believe you killed that man, they would have just given it to you so why steal it at all?”

“I couldn’t trust that they would give it to me when it was all said and done. I couldn’t just steal it out right, he would plan for that. However, if it appeared as though I had completed the job, there would be a small window of opportunity. And as soon as he realized the rouse, as he inevitably would, we would have already taken it. Even if I trusted him to deliver what he promised, simply faking the man’s death wouldn’t have been enough.”

“My brother is not as easily tricked as Scotland Yard.” Jim sneered with hate and a hint of admiration.

“And you have lots of experience with tricking Scotland Yard don’t you.” John sneered back. Jim grinned.

“It’s hardly that difficult.” Sherlock blurted out before receiving the most disapproving of looks from John. “But completely deplorable of course.” He quickly added.

“The insanity of this whole scheme aside for a moment, that still doesn’t answer one question. Surely by now he knows you defied him and stole the antidote. So why hasn’t he sent his people to bust down our door and shoot us in the head?”

Sherlock and Jim briefly shared a glance which made John more uneasy.

“We don’t know.” Sherlock stated with anticipation in his voice. “I spoke to Mycroft, whose men have been monitoring you, me, the flat, and practically the entirety of London. Jim’s resources have been monitoring the criminal elements of the city as well. And so far…nothing. No movement or signs of retaliation.”

“What does that mean?”

“I told him what it means, but Sherlock disagrees.” Jim pointedly stated towards Sherlock.

“It doesn’t make logical sense. Why even involve John and me?”

“You were tools, nothing more. He won this one, he won’t win the next.”

“Tools? Really? So I suppose he could have chosen any of your rivals. For one of only two men whose intellectual talents rival my own, you are supremely deluded.” Sherlock replied in a strong tone.

Jim made a sound that could only be described as giggling. “Deluded? Says the poor fool who allowed himself to be used like a worm on a hook to catch bigger prey. Maybe if you spent less time wasting that “intellectual talent” of yours on becoming domesticated you would have seen it sooner.” Jim quipped back.

“For god sake’s, will you two stop flirting and explain what the bloody hell you are talking about!” John cut in before Sherlock could reply again.

Sherlock’s face grimaced at John’s choice of words. “Jim believes it was all just a test. Directed at him, to test him loyalties.”

“My dearest brother has grown bold and bored. A deadly combination I assure you. He has his hands in every despicable pot you can think of, but he’s decided it’s not enough. So he came to me. You understand of course, that compared to my network, he deals in small grade crime. Guns, drugs, human trafficking, etcetera-“

“Small grade? Seriously?” John burst in, fighting the urge to vomit with disgust in his current circumstance.

“Honey, I have hands in jars of spiders that would make your moral sensibilities jump off a cliff.” Jim replied with a cold pride.

“You are REALLY not making me NOT want to kill you.” John said staring blankly into Jim’s abyssal stare. 

Jim smiled, and continued. “Needless to say I refused him.”

“Why?” Sherlock finally chimed in again.

“Why? Come on, surely I needn’t explain it to you.”

Sherlock remained silent, awaiting his answer. He knew. But he wanted to hear it from Jim’s mouth.

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Because I’m not about to stoop to his-“

“No.” Sherlock cut in.

Jim’s eyes widened as he sighed. “I put a lot of effort into what I’ve created and-“

“No.” Sherlock cut in again.

“BECAUSE IT’S MINE!” Jim shouted with an unhinged flair. “It’s mine, and I don’t want to share.”

Sherlock let out a victorious huff. “Now we’re getting somewhere. You want this to be about you, so you won’t see it any other way.”

Jim stared back in silence into Sherlock’s confident eyes, with a calm concession. He walked casually to stand in front of Sherlock, inches away from his face.

John tensed. Sherlock remained perfectly still.

Jim looked up into Sherlock’s eyes with a smile. “Quite so, my dear.”

Sherlock’s demeanor changed to the same calm concession. Touché.

John really didn’t like this closeness. “What is the point of this.” He spat out breaking the tension and silence.

Jim took a step back, but kept his eyes fixed in the same gaze. “The fact remains that we have a common problem that needs solving.”

“You see, I really don’t think we need help catching a psychopath from that psychopath’s psychopathic brother who, arguably, I’d rank higher on the “needs beat and throw and forgotten in the bottom of a dark whole” list.” John replied fiercely.

“My, my. I love this fire I spark in you, Doctor Watson. Or should I call you Captain? Killing me, beating me? Not so much the moral man you claim to be after all.” Jim said not moving his locked gaze from Sherlock’s eyes, smiling even wider.

John grimaced, preparing a response, but faltering. “Are we done?”

“For now. It’s obvious you’ll need some time to come to terms with this new arrangement.” Jim broke his gaze finally, and strolled over to the stairs. Sherlock remained still.

“Not gonna hap-“ John started.

“I’ll contact you when I’m ready.” Sherlock cut John off.

John stared at Sherlock with an intense confused, shocked, and angry look.

“Don’t wait too long, I might find someone prettier.” Jim quipped back as he descended the stairs and exited the flat with a bounce in his step.


End file.
